Poison in the Wine
by Snipermeow is evil
Summary: *This is the first time I write anything for Labyrinth, so please be kind. I was inspired to do so because of my good friend The Trevi Owl who writes amazing stories for the fandom as anyone who reads Labyrinth fanfiction should know. I hope you'll appreciate this small offering, all comments and reviews are welcome- constructive criticism and all. :) Rated M for smut ;)


You are poison in the wine

And you're marked as mine

There is no escape

But to drink and die

You're my fortune made

And I will not lie

There's no other way

I would end my life.

What is it that draws two living beings to one another? It can't be love. Love is something familiar. Love comes after. When two bodies seem to inexplicably propel towards each other by the power of some unknown force, it isn't gravity, that would be too easy. What is it?

A wild mind searches for its answers in desperation, already swimming in the wine that was brewed for it ages before its existence was even an idea in the universe. Wouldn't we all like the answer? What is it that makes the heart thunder at the slightest touch? So hard that it's pounding in your brain and you've never felt anything remotely like it before?

Why is it that you can be absolutely set on forgetting that one person which entered your life at that pivotal moment one minute and the next your resolve crumbles because, hey, they looked your way and you're certain that this time they understood.

And why, oh why is it possible for them to live worlds apart from you and still be constantly stumbling across your path, ever- ready to demolish your plans to move your godforsaken life along. It can't be magic, magic wouldn't be this cruel – would it?

Exasperated hands rake through frazzled hair. This is unfair. Tired eyes stare dully out to the cold morning light. How many times can a person cave? How often can the same promise be made? How long until it can no longer be taken seriously? A chewed up lip is worried with a set of pearly white teeth. An eye is caught. No – not this soon. But the pull is strong. Once you've felt the first tug it doesn't stop. "Stop biting your lip "a rosy piece of flesh is released absent-mindedly. "Why? What do you care? "Stubbornness. "Just once, do as I say. " Irritation, rivets of it filling the air until it becomes an almost pleasant sensation, a pinprick at the back of your neck. "No. "Determination. "No? ""No, it's my lip you don't have a say. " A challenge. How often can the same two people engage in the same game before they've exhausted the chance of a different outcome? Isn't constant repetition in the hopes of a new result considered insanity? Is that what it is? "Are you sure?" A promise, a different kind of promise. „Try me. " Today is filled with them it seems.

He steps up close and the irritation is no longer just a prickle at the back of her neck, she can feel it with all her skin, her entire body feels like pins and needles, it comes off of him in waves.

His eyes find hers and engage her in a war that can never be waged openly, only in long hard glances that only reveal half the story, only tell what is safe to tell

She glares back stubbornly, steeling herself yet again. No one wins these wars. No one wins a war. Long cool fingers find the ends of her tresses and begin twirling the smooth strands between themselves as if they would coil the softness around them into a never-ending Mobius strip, effectively trapping themselves. A soft pull sends a shiver sliding down her spine, no pain; it was barely felt – but the prickle of one and one hair being gently pulled at. She lets out her breath, having barely realized it was being held. She is being held, all of her attention, every fibre of her alert to the challenge, the war, the promise.

He leans in and bites her lip for her, softly at first, revelling in the soft and pliable flesh beneath his teeth, then harder, sending a message, an order of compliance. She pulls back a bit, pushes at his chest. „No, we're done this time. " He looks at her, his eyes full of smoke and embers, sparks are flying, he doesn't miss a beat, instantly grasping her wrists in his hands and pulling her close, really close, she can't breathe without smelling him everywhere around her.

His face nuzzles into the side of hers gently, he's still holding her wrists, keeping her hands from their bodies, holding her still with little else than his will. She could knock his hands off of her easily, he doesn't force her. That's the problem. He never forces her, everything she's ever done in his presence has been of her own free will. Her breath quickens as his teeth graze her jaw, nibbling gently down to her neck, where the bite becomes more vicious. She gasps, pushing her hips forwards, pressing against his. What is this? It can't just be lust, lust can be controlled.

She opens her eyes to see him staring at her. His eyes investigating her face intently, trying to spy every emotion, every reaction. She feels invaded. It's none of his business. His eyes lower one moment, then search hers again with doubled heat. He has every right and before this is over he is going to show her. His lips take hers, not carelessly; without regard for her but deliberately, knowing that she could back down any moment if she wanted, and basking in the knowledge.

The feeling of their lips together seers into every one of their senses, it's absorbing to the point of madness. All-consuming heat sparks between them and they crack and at that moment it's impossible to tell who caved first because the world becomes a flurry of soft skin and taut muscle and heat, thick, heavy heat that covers everything from their tremulous bodies to the air they breathe.

Her hands are freed and they have returned home, home to conquer what is rightfully theirs, they roam free on his body like happy wolfs hunting prey, they know all the right places. Her long smooth fingers travel down his abdomen in a feather-light touch that sends currents through his spine all the way up to his brain turning every thought into pure static.

Her hands land gentle on his hips, her thumbs stroking circles on his hip-bones as she leans in to pull his lips into another kiss, her lips sucking his into her mouth hard, demanding a reaction.

He pushes her away lightly; his big hands come around her waist, stroking her sides as he looks into her eyes with veneration, the likes of which his eyes never held before. She is his deity in this moment, the one force to which he could ever yield. Her fingers travel from his hips to his erect member, wrapping around it with agonizing leisure as his eyes burn their image into her mind.

She pulls soft moans from his lips with the work of her delicate hands, such delicate hands, but they can be wicked those hands. She teases his rigid flesh with languid strokes, not caring about the sweltering need in his hoarse voice. This is her moment; this is her chance to let him know, to win the challenge, to win the war, to keep a promise. She can feel the heat in the air, his slick body roiling like a snake in a pit, he's close. This is her moment, her chance to deprive him, to make him succumb. She becomes so fixed on this thought she loses track of her opponent.

And just like that the war is lost, never underestimate the adversary. She doesn't even know what happens. All of a sudden she is lying face down on the covers and his hands are everywhere, ravaging the curves of her body one by one, squeezing and kneading, stroking and pinching until every sensation is overlapped by another and she can't tell parts of her body apart and then the assault halts. She can hear nothing but her own rampaging breath coming out in cut little puffs, hard and fast. She can feel his weight shifting on top of her and all of a sudden his rough hand travels from her calf, up her thigh effectively parting her legs while stroking the soft skin on the inside of her thigh, his fingers dip close to her sex gently skimming past her most sensitive part and instead journey to her backside his other hand joining it in kneading the soft curvature of her behind.

She lets out a shaky breath, letting down her guard a bit, enjoying the sensation of his strong hands on her supple flesh. His hands run up her back and he lays his weight on her, planting kisses on her shoulder hard and fast like a rain of arrows.

She is mesmerized by his heartbeat; it's as if she can hear the blood thrumming in his veins. She is hypnotized until suddenly he raises himself up on his elbows and pushes inside her in one hard thrust. She gasps in surprize as the feeling of him fully sheathed inside of her sends her head spinning. The shock leaves her body trembling but he doesn't give her time to adjust, quickly he removes himself from her completely only to repeat the action, he sets a hard and slow rhythm and she can feel every inch of him leaving her body only to be fully returned to her again and again and again, he picks up the pace and she begins to thrust back wildly, her body so immersed in the sensations that she can't think. She is no longer a creature of reason or will; all of her senses are now fully engaged in their quest for release. His thrusts are coming harder, more jagged, gone is the control; the careful and deliberate thrusts become wild jabs as his hips buck forward almost reflexively.

He can't think anymore and all that he can see is the fog that covers his eyes. All he can feel is her, the coiling of her body around him, the taste of her sweat on his tongue, her smooth skin rubbing raw against his, the heat that fans over his skin like a humid breeze from some foreign jungle. They are violent, fervent in their quest for release and then it comes.

She feels herself tighten around him as she comes crashing down, the pleasure too intense, she can't do anything but let go of herself. As she contracts around his hard manhood the sensation becomes too much for him to take, he cries out, pleasure bleeding into pain until all sensations are one and he too must let go, crashing down from an unexplainable frenzy. He collapses onto her breathing so hard he's sure his ribs are bruising.

He can't hear anything but a faint buzz in his ears, the buzzing of his blood rushing in his veins. What is this? Love? Lust? Words that simply can't describe what they go through every time.

In the aftermath he lays next to her on the damp , rumpled sheets, stroking her back. Looking into her face he notices that she is thinking, her eyes closed, trying to come at some sort of conclusion. Finally she opens her eyes. "Jareth, What are we doing?" He gazes intently at the wall on the other side of the room: "What we're meant to do, Sarah."


End file.
